Thursday, 31 May 2012

The lovely people at Silver Publishing have accepted Dark Waters, and I've just signed and returned the contract! No idea yet when it'll be released, of course, it just said 2012 on the form. But, hey, I'm so very pleased [British Understatement] it's found a great home in the Silver stable *g*

Dark Waters a shapeshifter story, but
this is no urban shifter - he is an each-uishe, a waterhorse of the
Scottish lochs, and a very dangerous creature.

I cannot wait to see what Reese Dante and her Art Team will come up with for him!

~ * ~

Needless to say, I have images in my head, and a friend recently sent me a link to the CRWR art site where I found this amazing picture.

Visit the CRWR site HERE and browse their wonderful art, because they have the perfect picture of my waterhorse. Unfortunately, I
haven't been able to find a picture of his manshape, but I have every
faith in Silver's artists. They'll create him, I'm certain.

Dark Waters

Flein
is a wanderer by instinct and need, roaming the known world as the fancy takes
him. In the Highland village
of Glenfinnan, women have
been raped and brutally murdered. The killer is a waterhorse, a monstrous
shapeshifter by all accounts. But when Flein meets Donnchadh, first in its
equine form, then its man-shape, he knows the waterhorse is innocent. Flein is
drawn to the shapeshifter, but he finds it difficult to acknowledge it's more
than a monster.

Donnchadh,
though wary, shares the same attraction. They join forces to hunt for the real
murderer, but time is short. They must
find the killer before more women die. Then suspicion is turned on them and the
hunters become the hunted.

Friday, 18 May 2012

I'm not officially a part of the Hop - I've been travelling away from home too much recently to get myself organised and sign up for it, but it's been there in the back of my head for days. Maybe for years in various forms.

Why am I so fervently waving the Rainbow Flag in suppost of the GLBT community? Because I hate bigotry and injustice. I hate the cynical abuse of power by those in positions of authority to either fail to protect the vulnerable in their care, or actively work against those whom they have decided do not fit their idea of 'normal', often to score a political or religious advantage. Just as damaging in the long run are the casual everyday throwaway comments by thoughtless people.

Just because my son was born straight doesn't mean I don't have to stand beside those who weren't. Who knows, one of my grandsons might turn out to be gay or bi or transgender. It will make no difference to me or their parents - we love them and accept them for who they are, and that will never change.

Just because I'm a straight woman, doesn't mean I can't identify with those in the GLBT community who suffer outright homophobia and those tiny everyday snide remarks and insults. I've had workplace discrimination and scorn aimed at me for being a woman, for being a pagan, for being old. On a small scale, yes, but there. It made me angry every time it happened. So why should I hold back and do nothing when I see it aimed at others?

This is my note on my FaceBook profile

To All Those Who Have Friended Me...

It's
great that I have so many friends of all political and religious
leanings, of different races and shades of colour, of all genders and
the whole range of sexuality on the Kinsey scale. I care about you all.

I would like to state here and now that:

I support passionately the right of same sex couples to marry if they choose to do so.
I am equally passionate about loathing the bigotry and cruelty that drives children and adults to take their own lives.

I love and admire the courage of those in the public spotlight who stand up and say, "I'm gay."

I have nothing but contempt for the so-called religious people who use their religion to justify their bigotry and cruelty.

I have nothing but contempt for those so-called religious people who attempt to impose their version of religion on others.

If any on my friends list take issue with any of the above statements, please unfriend me as soon as possible.

Friday, 11 May 2012

I've
been away from home for ten days, visiting a friend in Cheshire, and internet
access has been patchy.

For
most of those ten days, my feet seemed to never touch the ground, and the weather
cooperated [mostly]. I'll set up another post in a few days with pics of some
of the places we visited, but for now I'll catch up on my writing news - and give grateful thanks to RJ Scott for taking over my
website and blogging about Paradox,
my latest release, on Saturday May 5th *g*!

Also out now is the print trilogy, The Fitzwarren Inheritance - containing in one paperback volumeThe Psychic's Tale, The Soldier's Tale and The Lord's Tale, by myself, RJ Scott and Sue Brown!

Top
of the list - and I may have already mentioned this *g* - Silver has accepted Finders, Keepers. They have also
accepted my m/f paranormal romance, Argent
Dreaming. Written under the name of Chris Power, this was first published
by A.N. Other publisher back in 2008. I've only just managed to get back the copyrights
on the four remaining stories I've written and co-written. Terri Beckett, my
co-author on three of them, and I will be resubmitting in due course, when we've
had a chance to read through and edit them.

The print release of Game on, Game Over is on May 17th, the ebooks Finders, Keepers is due August 25th, and Argent Dreaming [still
in the name of Chris Power] is pencilled in for September 22nd.

Now,
after no time at all to do any writing [I am twitching], I must dive back into
Fool's Rush for Manifold Press, because time is flying by and I hate deadlines
with a passion...

Saturday, 5 May 2012

Hi guys! RJ Scott is in the house generally making a mess on Chris Quinton's blog!

My buddy Chris has a new book out today. It's an awesome story of a guy who experiences something out of this world. She is away from her computer with limited access so I kindly volunteered to pimp and write a blog for her site...

The blurb for her new book is:
Phil thrives on the danger and excitement of his job, and he trusts his partner with his life. Until Ryan kisses him. It's a diversionary tactic, but the kiss shakes Phil to his foundations. He doesn't need or want a long-term lover, but now it seems his heart does.

A short time later, Phil finds himself trapped in his wrecked car, drifting in and out of a dream-haunted coma where he's living a parallel life. Centuries in the past, someone's trying to kill Caius Marcellus Valens, and nothing is the way it seems. When the dream invades Phil's waking life, he must separate past from present before it tears apart his world--and the best relationship he's ever had.

I was lucky to read this when she was a)writing it and b)as a pre release PDF. I love how she so cleverly wound the two *seemingly* separate stories together. Go see the extract. You won't be disappointed.

I said I would post a short blog post to accompany this and so asked for some questions on Facebook... This is what happens when you let RJ loose on your blog!

oOo

Silver Pixie: Why not talk about what makes you tick? What inspires you? What doesnt?

I gave a lot of thought to this question. I wasn’t entirely sure what makes me tick or what inspires me. I could say it’s the pictures of all the pretty men out there, or the TV that I watch, or the films I see, or even the books I read.

But when I really think about it. It’s the rush.

When I am in the zone and words are just appearing on the screen ahead of me thinking, and I have a storyline in my head and my characters become real I have the most incredible high. It's peaceful and addictive.

Does this make me weird?

Pauline Allan: How about why you write M/M romances? Why does that genre appeal to you go greatly? :)

Men. Mostly. ROFL…

Since I can remember I have been a bromance addict. My very first bromance addiction was based around 'Battle Of The Planets'. An animation based, I think on a Japanese animation and dubbed in american. Jason and Mark. I wasn’t interested in the girly, or the big guy, or the little kid, I wanted the conflict between the hero's and I wanted to see them duke it out and then in the next breath put their lives on the line for each other. Sighs.

So I guess I am now sharing my bromance addiction with the world. You poor things…

And the fact there can be moments of intense heat between two men where you can just have them going for it, temper and anguish and then the hottest sex ever.

Does this make me weird?

LeeAnn Pratt: what is the most annoying things a character has doine, in your head of course to get your attention so you'll write THEIR story?

Well I think Jack and Riley are hard wired into my brain as they keep demanding more barn sex, hence Texas 3 (August).

Also Alex wants to put back all the stuff he stole and boy has he been nagging me to do it, hence Oracle 2 (October) and then he kind of wants his powers back but I am not sure how Luke feels about this. I guess we'll see when I write it.

Does my characters talking to me, make me weird?

Paula Hadgraft: Do you plan out your characters and worlds before writing, or do you just start and see where the characters take you?

No I don't plan anything really. I have photoboards that I pull together with inspirational photos, and I also have this App on my iPad called IThoughtsHD which is a drag and drop programme to keep an eye on character.

I know for a fact in Oracle 2 that Alex replaces an item into a museum in Oxford, UK, and I have the scene in my head. So I will have scenes I want to write but usually no idea of how I am going to get them on paper until I get into the zone.

Friday, 4 May 2012

The Walled Garden is
F.M. Parkinson's debut novel, so of course I asked her how she came to choose
such a fascinating setting, and that other burning question authors often get: why?

Why did I write the novel? Some years ago a friend and
I spent part of a morning attempting to write a story about a man living in the
Victorian England of the 1850s. My friend wrote a page of splendid prose,
all about a horse and carriage driving through the cobbled streets of a town; I
managed three lines of absolute drivel, because I had no real idea of what life
was like at that time. But the idea wouldn’t go away and I decided to
continue with my efforts.

The novel began life in a different version, and the first
scene was one in which two men were confronting one another. One of the
characters had just behaved in a stupid and irresponsible way; the other was
livid over this. I then realised that while I knew a bit about one of the
men, I had no idea as to how the other had ended up there. And although I
knew where I wanted my characters to go with their relationship, I had no clue
as to how to get them there. So I had to go back and create a story to
get them both to that point.

As I continued writing, I realised that I needed to find out
far more about life at that time, in particular the law regarding homosexuality,
as it changed several times in England during the nineteenth century. I
also wanted to know about public and private attitudes to sex in its many
variations. It was fascinating to discover that whatever face Victorian
society presented to public gaze, in private people were as uninhibited and
passionate in their love as anyone today would be.

I’ve also always had a fascination with the high-walled
gardens found on most country estates. (I’m sure that The Secret Garden
by Frances Hodgson Burnett was an influence.) Most of these gardens were
kitchen gardens for growing the vegetables and flowers used in the owner’s
house, though other ones were designed as gardens to be used as places for the
owner of the property to take his leisure. All of them, whatever their
function today, have an air of mystery, secrecy and seclusion about them that,
to me, conjured up a place where two men could shut out the world and its
demands and be quite private with each other for a while, the high walls and
locked door to the garden cutting them off from the rest of society.

Before I started to write this story, I had only attempted
short pieces of fiction set in the contemporary world. I couldn’t write
this story in the same manner – I had to find some other style. I
therefore tried to echo the style of English novels written at that time, not
just in language but in the slower pace of telling the story, while still
making it acceptable to the reader of today. And once I had got my
characters to that scene of confrontation, I found I still had a long way to
go, with many twists and turns, before I could bring the novel to a close.

It was fascinating to find out about that time - about
households and servants; about clothing (right down to men’s underwear); about the
workings of parliament (quite different to today); about railways and stations,
and what certain towns and cities looked like at the time. I studied
newspapers, magazines, books, plans, paintings and photographs of the
time; wrote to various august bodies for information, and visited the places I
used as settings in the novel. Every aspect of life needed research.

I enjoyed discovering all about my characters and their
respective lives. I hope that readers of the story may do so too.

Wednesday, 2 May 2012

The second of Manifold's May 1st
releases is a hard-hitting historical novel by the acclaimed R.A. Padmos -
Unspoken.

Stefan is a working-class man – or
would be, if there was any work! – when he meets Adri and they begin an affair.
Married with children, Stefan resists this development in a society where
homosexuality is legal but scarcely tolerated. Nor does he understand when Adri
warns him about the territorial ambitions of Hitler’s Germany, which
their country will be unable to oppose. In a daily battle against guilt,
poverty and other, more tangible enemies, Stefan and Adri struggle to hold on
to a love which should never have existed at all – but which may be the only
thing helping them to survive.

Excerpt

They had made a habit of waiting
for each other after getting their stamp, and after a few days it was as if it
had always been this way: the control stamps, the looking for work, the cups of
coffee at Stefan’s home and the hand-rolled cigarettes they shared.

Four weeks had gone by but that was
just time, and Stefan didn’t think much about how easily the days and weeks had
passed. That night was no different from so many other nights. They had
strolled through the neighbourhood before it was time for Adri to go home. It
didn’t mean anything that Stefan dropped his keys when he wanted to open the
front door. It was only logical that they reached out at the same time to
retrieve the fallen object and, when their hands touched, it was fully by
accident. And yet, for a few seconds that must have lasted an eternity, they
were frozen in the shock of recognition – until Stefan quickly grabbed the keys
and stood upright again.

“It’s me, girl,” he called upstairs
to Marije, because that was what he always did. He knew he was supposed to
double-lock the door for the night but somehow he had forgotten even this
simple routine. The touch of Adri’s fingers had burned a sign into his hand.
Not until there was a knock on the door was he able to move again, and before
he could say anything the other man was inside with him. In the dark, cramped
entry to his home, where his wife was waiting upstairs for him to kiss his
children goodnight, he was being kissed by a man.

“Oh God … oh God … What did I do
…?” Adri sounded as shocked as Stefan felt.

“I don’t want to scare my wife and
children, so I’ll keep my voice down and I won’t hit you, but I never want to
see you at my door again.” Stefan pushed the door open. “Get out.”

That night Marije told him she had
missed her time of the month.

***

He felt like himself again when he
caught Adri’s gaze, waiting in line for another job neither of them would get,
and turned away. It was easy as anything. A man kissing another man? Why would
any normal, healthy bloke want to do such a sickening thing? He remembered how
he had walked through the park last summer, with Marije, during one of those
rare moments the kids were all at grandma’s for a few hours in the afternoon.
It was almost like it had been when they were engaged and had a bit of money
and so much free time on a Sunday they didn’t know what to do with it. There
had been this man, if you could call it that, dressed just a bit too
colourfully and moving in a way that would only look attractive on a young
woman. The creature had looked Stefan straight in the eye, and winked at him.

“Doesn’t it make you sick to the
stomach?” he had hissed.

Marije had pulled at his jacket.
“Don’t say a thing like that. That man surely doesn’t mean to hurt us. Perhaps
he can’t help being that way.”

“Why should I have to even see dirt
like that in our park? Or are you saying it’s normal, for men to be like that?”

“Perhaps not normal, no …” she had
admitted, after some hesitation.

“So you’re agreeing with me.”

“But that’s no reason to judge that
poor man so harshly. I can’t imagine anyone choosing to be that way, to be
without a loving family, with no respect from anyone.”

“Respect?”

“Please, Stefan, opoe Doffer didn’t offer to look
after the little ones so that we could have a fight. When was the last time it
was just the two of us? Let’s enjoy it, yes?”

He left the memories for what they
were, when he saw Adri walk away without looking over his shoulder even once.
He didn’t dare move until the other man had turned a corner, too afraid he
would run after him, too afraid he would be spineless and weak.

No one should misinterpret his
situation. He worked hard on the days he had a job, and stood for hours in line
to hear, “sorry, man, nothing today”, only to do the exact same thing the next
day and the next. He never neglected any of the tasks at home that a man
shouldn’t leave to his wife, mother or daughter, and he paid more attention to
Selle and Wilfred because Marije was too sick to run after two lively boys. He
felt his urges night after night, but he didn’t press her to allow him the use
of her body. And, when she nodded her consent, he was extra careful with her
because of the new child growing inside her – but also for a reason he hardly
dared to face.

Tuesday, 1 May 2012

Two more releases from Manifold Press - first is the debut novel The Walled Garden by F.M. Parkinson, a Victorian romance...

William Ashton, retained as a gardener by
Edward Hillier, discovers his new master to be a detached and driven man. Over
the years, as travail and tragedy bring them closer together, he understands
that they have more in common than he first realised, but the affection they
feel for one another will be sorely tested by boundaries both of class and of
rigid Victorian morality. Like the private garden behind the high walls their
love must flourish only in the strictest secrecy – or else it will not do so at
all.

Excerpt

In the midst of Nature run riot wandered
Hillier, making his way through the grass, unaware for the moment of the
presence of his gardener. Ashton did not seek to remind him, finding he took
pleasure in watching his employer. To Ashton’s eyes he seemed in harmony with
his surroundings, and the gardener saw no reason to disturb the pleasant
interlude. Hillier turned and caught sight of Ashton where he stood amidst the
green foliage by the half-opened door and hastened back to him, an aura of
intense, suppressed emotion about him.

“I have not stood in this garden for many
years,” Hillier began, clearly needing to explain. “It is very pleasant to walk
here again.” He surveyed the overgrown state. “I am afraid it is going to be
more work than I realised. I should have spoken to you before everything
started to grow, but I have been so busy elsewhere.”

It was a pity, reflected Ashton somewhat
gloomily, that his employer had not mentioned the work sooner. He supposed the
lawyer would want him to clear it all. That, however, was what he was paid to
do, he reminded himself again firmly. If he found Hillier’s manner towards him
more that of an equal than anything else, he did not consider it further.As if reading Ashton’s thoughts, Hillier
went on, “I wish this place to be cleared – only a little, you understand. You
need not return it to its formal state. I prefer it to be left a little –
untidy.” He was not looking at Ashton as he spoke, his gaze intent upon his
surroundings.

“Very well, sir,” replied Ashton, accepting
the eccentricities of the well-to-do without demur, “but the work would be done
faster if there was more than me to do it. It’d take two of us far less time to
clear the garden; then you’d have it nice for the rest of the summer.” He
supposed this was Hillier’s aim. “Be pleasant for you and Mrs Hillier to walk
in.”

The lawyer’s attention was caught; he turned
to stare at Ashton. “Obviously I have not made myself clear. I want you alone
to work in this garden. Only you. No-one else will be allowed entrance.” He
turned away, once more looking around him, then swung back to face his
employee, his tone becoming fierce. “I will not have anyone else in here, do
you understand? I hold the only key there is to the door. I will have a copy
made and you shall have that other key. You must keep it safe, and lock the
door behind you when you are in here.”

Some surprise must have shown on Ashton’s
face, however well he tried to conceal the emotion, for the lawyer added, “I
need somewhere I can walk in peace, knowing that no-one will disturb me.” And
to Ashton’s amazement he began to explain.

“When I was a child, Will, I came here to
escape from my everyday world. The property belonged then to a Mr Elswood, an
elderly gentleman, and on his death, for he had no immediate family, it was
purchased by a Mr Crichton, from whom I bought it many years later at the time
of my marriage.” A fleeting expression, almost of pain, passed across his face.
“Neither owner was in residence very often and we youngsters wandered at will
through the park. I dare say we were trespassing, but we were never caught. I
found this place and climbed one of the trees near the wall to see over, and
determined there and then it should be my own special garden. I think it must
have been built originally as a pleasure garden. It was overgrown even then – a
boy’s delight.” He laughed quietly, his grey eyes sparkling with gentle humour.
“I was small enough in those days for the branches of the tree to take my
weight. It was over there.” He indicated toward the far side of the enclosure.
“It has been cut down long since, but then I was quite able to scramble onto
the wall and down through the bushes on the inner side. I spent endless hours
of enjoyment here, thirty or so years ago; it was an escape from the reality of
my life.” He gazed for a moment longer at the overgrown foliage before turning
to look at Ashton. “Tell me, Will, have you met my aunt?”

It was such a switch of topic in this
unlikeliest of unlikely conversations, that Ashton blinked. He had not seen
Miss Hillier, but had heard more than enough about her from Curtis to make him
determined to avoid her if at all possible, for by all accounts she sounded a
redoubtable lady. “No, sir.”

“Dear Aunt Ursula,” Hillier said softly,
half to himself, “I must have been a trial to her. You see, Ashton, she brought
me up from babyhood, and I owe her everything. But she ordered my life like
clockwork and it was a relief, sometimes, to escape.” He half turned away and
fell silent.

The gardener could do nothing but stand in
mute silence. He could not reach out to this man the way he wished to, not even
as one friend offering understanding to another. He had no right to do so, even
though Hillier had spoken with such candour to him, a virtual stranger, and one
not of his own standing.

Hillier turned back to him, his self-control
regained. “There is little more to tell. I grew too tall and heavy for the
branches to support me safely, and then I went away to finish my schooling at Rugby. I didn’t see the garden again till after I had
bought the property, and then … I had no wish to do anything about it … until
now.

“It is all arranged, Will, I have spoken to
Josiah Curtis, and he will see that you have time to do this work for me.”

Ashton found his voice. “Why me, sir? Anyone
could have cleared the place for you long ago.”

The owner of Pennerton Manor paused for a
moment, as if deciding whether or not to answer. Finally he replied, “You will
not be a disturbance to me,” and gave the gardener a smile of friendship that
silenced Ashton completely.

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